A/N: I spent a lot of time writing this part, I've had it done since probably March. I actually cried writing it.

Epilogue 1-Twenty Years Later

I push into the room at St. Mungo's. In the memory ward several other people were visiting their loved ones. Neville Longbottom sat at the bed of a frail woman who had precisely his face and a man with shocks of white hair sticking up off his scalp. Neville catches my eye and gives me a melancholy smile before the woman presses a paper into his palm.

A Healer waves her wand around, and a dust bin empties. "George! How nice to see you again! I don't suppose you brought those children with you, did you?" she adds, looking around me as if I were trying to smuggle them in.

"No. If I do remember correctly, Fred and Roxanne caused enough trouble when they were last in. They'll be in later with Angelina and my brothers and sister and Dad and their families."

"I look forward to it," the Healer says, but now she looks like she's grimacing. "I suppose you want to see her, don't you?"

"Obviously. How is she?"

"Acting her age," the Healer says.

"Meaning-?"

"Many elderly do tend to lose memory and sight, George, and her stroke has contributed to that," the Healer says condescendingly. "It's only natural, although unfortunate, that Molly is to be suffering of the same symptoms." The speech is well rehearsed, almost from memory. I'm certain the Healer had recited it to plenty of sons and daughters and husbands and wives over the years. It's a heartbreaking thought.

"Is there no way to cure her?"

"Forgetfulness is not a disease, George," she says reprovingly. "There are charms, but they're temporary. Besides, you know as well as I do that Molly is happier now."

"She remembers us, though," I say, my voice trembling. "She remembers all her kids, and Bill's oldest and Ginny's oldest. She doesn't remember any of her other grandkids."

"I'm sorry," the Healer says sympathetically. "But she's happy. On her good days she remembers all her grandchildren. On her bad days she doesn't even know you've left Hogwarts, which is really saying something, because you're probably, what, forty now?"

"On her bad days," I say hotly, "she forgets that Fred died or Percy had cancer."

The Healer gives me a wan smile. "Do you want to remind her?"

"No," I say defiantly.

"Go bid her a merry Christmas, and be patient with her, George."

"You act like I'm a monster," I snap, but I push the curtain aside and step into Mum' section of the ward. I pull the curtain back so it covers the area, illuminating everything a faint blue.

She sits on her bed, straightening a photograph on the nightstand. She looks up at me, her mouth forming a smile. "Georgie! Georgie! How nice to see you again!"

I sit down on her bed next to her. "Hi, Mum. How are you?"

"Me? I'm fine, fine." She clasps my hand with her shaky one. Three years ago she'd had a stroke, and though she could talk properly now, she still shook often. "Tell me how you and Angelina are."

She remembers Angelina and I are married, then. We'd gotten married sixteen years ago, when we'd both been about twenty-five. Sometimes Mum could remember major things from two years ago, like the birth of Charlie and Themis's daughter, Lenore, or the death of their oldest child, Felicity. I doubt today she could remember that Percy was now the Minister of Magic.

"She's good," I say. "So are Roxanne and Fred. They're home from Hogwarts for the holidays."

Mum nods vigorously, drinking in my every word. Her eyes remain cloudy. I wonder how much she's actually understanding. She smiles. "How's Charlie? Have he and Themis gotten married yet?"

My heart sinks. Today isn't a good day. Charlie and Themis had gotten married before Angelina and I. Her memory must be murky today. "Yes, Charlie and Themis are married, Mum. Remember? You went to the wedding. Percy was the best man. Remember, they have six kids."

Her eyes remain blank. Then she frowns. "How's your ear, George? Still can't hear anything?"

"No," I say, my heart sinking even lower. Will she never remember everything? Mum is seventy-five now. "No, I still can't hear very well."

Mum begins to straighten another photograph. "Mum," I say, "it's Christmas."

"Is it? Blimey. Why aren't you spending it with January?"

"I brought you a present," I say nervously. It must be really bad if she still thinks January and I are together. Worse than the Healer wanted me to believe. I show her the present. Her face lights up and she takes the box from me.

"Go on," I encourage her. "Open it."

She obeys with hands quivering with excitement. She tears the bow off like a child and rips through the wrapping paper, revealing a plain white box. She lifts the lid and a smile erupts on her face as she pulls the picture out. It was a huge picture of our family. Mum and Dad are in the middle, and then Bill, before he and Fleur had married. Charlie stands next to Bill by himself, because it had been taken before he'd gotten married. Next is Percy, looking youthful and much less stressed than he is now. Then comes me, wearing a black sweater and a red and gold tie, my arm slung around Ron's neck, who is blushing badly and refusing to look straight at the camera. Beside him is Ginny, smiling a sincere, gorgeous smile, on the verge of laughing. And lastly comes Fred, wearing a matching sweater to me and a Gryffindor tie, one hand resting on Ginny's shoulder, his head low so he would stand her height, his eyes friendly and his grin sly and his teeth a bit crooked. It had been taken before Sirius had died, but he'd been living at Grimmauld Place when we'd took it. I know, because we're standing in Grimmauld Place in the photograph. All of us are smiling, unaware that Fred Weasley would soon have a son, and unaware that Fred would die, and unaware that I would fall in love only to have it taken from me. We don't realize that I was the most mistaken poor soul in the world to blame Fred.

Mum stares down at it with a certain fondness that makes me want to cry. Then she looks up at me and says, "Oh, Fred, this is fantastic, thank you so much."

I feel the tears in me threaten to spill over, but I have to stay strong for Mum today. It's not the first time Mum had forgotten he'd died. Since her stroke, she'd forgotten a lot of things. It would be twenty-one years come June for the anniversary. I don't have the heart to remind her today. "I'm George, not Fred! Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?" I say lightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, George," she says, but she hadn't yet realized Fred isn't here anymore.

My heart aches. I want, beyond anything, to make her happy again. I've been so selfish. I smile sadly at her. "Only joking, I am Fred."

A/N: Damage Control is officially over.